The Heart of the Matter
by ohcomely23
Summary: Peter suffers a heart attack over dinner, and it's up to Neal and El to keep him calm and lucid while they wait for help to arrive. The wait brings back memories for Neal whose uncle suffered a heart attack and reminds Elizabeth how much she loves her husband.
1. Chapter 1

_Dedicated to leonore 09! This is me trying to spread my wings! J_

_

One moment, they were in the middle of an intense debate on whether or not deviled ham was any better than the prison sludge that Neal had been forced to ingest for three years and nine months.

Peter was pretending to be insulted, his face set in a frown, but his brown eyes sparkling in their amusement.

Elizabeth was backing Peter up of course, gently resting her hand on his shoulders, though she was giving Neal an exasperated nod that showed her agreement. Truth be told, El's stomach churned at the smell of the damned food for at least the first two years of her and Peter's marriage.

Neal was animatedly arguing his point.

Peter polished off his third beer as El stifled a yawn. It was growing late; the dinner/converse-about-the-case evening had grown into the depth of night, and all three had an early day ahead of them.

Neal slipped into his jacket as Elizabeth walked him to the door. She'd prepared a small doggy-bag for him to take home to June's.

The two were speaking in hushed tones, Elizabeth making it clear that prison food was probably much, _much _better than deviled ham, when they heard the scrape of a wooden chair against tile, almost as if it was being dragged.

Both turned their attention towards the now-echo. Peter was clenching onto the wooden backing of the chair, white knuckled, his face covered in a sheen layer of sweat. His eyes were fixed on the seat of the chair, and he was panting, using his other hand to loosen his tie.

"Hon?"  
"Peter?"

Peter's eyes flickered up at them and then back to their previous spot as though the seat of the chair was the most fascinating thing in the world.

El turned on her heel and darted towards him, Neal on her tail and crossing the pathway in three long strides.

El placed a comforting hand on the small of her husband's back, feeling tremors.  
"Hon, what's wrong?" Her voice was etched with concern, and then to Neal—"Neal, call 9-1-1."

"I'm fine, just need to sit down," Peter grimaced, trying to shake off whatever was wrong.  
He looked over at Neal for some support… but all Neal saw were the whites of his eyes as Peter's eyes unsteadily sought Neal's blue ones.

Neal was already on the phone, rattling off directions for the ambulance. He noticed Peter looking a bit unsteady on his feet, and so when the operator offered to stay on the line, he declined.

Peter swayed a bit, and he was too heavy for El.

"Whoa, I've got you, I've got you," Neal spoke reassuringly, his eyes darting from Peter to El and then back to Peter as he slowly eased Peter into the chair, sinking to his knees to steady his friend.

Not wishing to alarm Peter (he could practically hear the frantic thumping of Peter's heartbeat), he raised himself up from his knees. Keeping one hand firmly on Peter's shoulder, he turned towards El.

"I think he's having a heart attack."


	2. Chapter 2

Leonore09- Thank you for the feedback and the advice. I tend to get ahead of myself by rushing into the heat of the story without building the fire. Please continue leaving thoughts?  
___

"Ambulance is on the way, but there's a blizzard." Neal spoke softly to Elizabeth.  
"Of course there is," she choked out, exasperated. "Of course there is."  
"Hey-Hey. He's going to be alright. He's gonna be fine."  
Peter was aware that they were speaking, but the heat radiating in his body stole his thoughts.

"I'm healthy.." His voice was quiet yet defiant, strong, the essence of Peter Burke.

"What was that, Hon?" Elizabeth practically lurked across the kitchen at the sound of his voice, her hand finding his. She had taken to pacing, though she was never more than a few steps away from her ailing husband.

It had been about fifteen minutes since the ambulance had been phoned. Peter, being Peter, hadn't wanted to lie down. At El's insistence, he had sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Elizabeth wanted him to rest, but Peter insisted that they talk, keep up the conversation. _Probably best, Neal had said. Keep him awake, alert, calm, keep him with us.._

Those words hadn't been meant for Peter to hear, and so he'd pretended that playing 'Go Fish' was something he was just dying to do.

_Dying.. maybe not the best choice of words,_ he thought sadistically.

"I'm healthy. I work out.. I eat right. This doesn't make sense." A thin sheen of sweat was coating Peter's face, his rosy cheeks. He could tell that Elizabeth was ready to give him a pep-talk, but he didn't need it. Lamenting on what seemed to be a freak health accident, something out of the blue, wasn't going to fix the problem.

Peter looked at his wife, the despairing look in her eyes jabbing at his heart more than any heart attack ever could. She was falling apart in front of him. He placed a clammy hand on hers—he wouldn't have been surprised if she crumbled beneath his palm. "It's okay, Hon," he comforted, his voice rough.

Neal felt like he was intruding on a moment, yet he cleared his throat anyhow.

"I've put some BAYER aspirin in here—dissolved it so it should be easier to swallow. Drink this."

These were the first words that Neal had spoken directly to Peter in fifteen minutes, and Peter startled a bit.

Peter nodded gratefully, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly, _almost, _as he reached for the glass. Neal's eyes bore into his as he placed his artists' hands on Peter's, encompassing the glass to help Peter drink. Neal understood that Peter needed to feel in control, that he wasn't the type of man to sit back and play the part of a weakling, of a victim. So Neal aided Peter as he drank the aspirin-water.

Peter shifted a bit; it wasn't that it was uncomfortable, but the position was awkward. Noticing Elizabeth and Neal eying him, he shook it off. His eyes were feeling heavier now..

"Go fish."

"Huh?"

Neal forced himself to smile, though the smile didn't reach his eyes.  
"You asked if I had any sevens. Go fish—and no falling asleep on us. It's rude," he playfully quipped.  
Peter ghosted a smile.

"Yeah, Hon. I'm having a hard enough time keeping Neal from looking at your cards as it is." El bantered with a small chuckle.

"Hey!" Neal playfully squatted her hand.

Peter grinned at the two now. His fingers felt clumsy as he reached for the deck.

Pain was etched in the lines of his face as they continued their game.  
Elizabeth told Neal the story of how she and Peter had met. Neal paid apt attention, laughing at Peter's awkward attempts to woo his now-wife. She would trail off occasionally, leaving Peter to fill in the gaps. Peter suspected this was planned, a way of keeping him alert and in the story, but he didn't mind. He loved reliving his courtship—as nerve-wracking as it had been, it had rewarded him with the single greatest accomplishment of his life—the companionship of his true love.

Neal spoke of "a friend he knew" who had pulled quite a few heists. He told the stories animatedly, pausing for dramatic effect, lowering his voice, shouting as the action picked up. Of course, the "friend" was Neal. Peter and El found themselves laughing in amazement at the situations Neal had gotten himself in, smiling in disbelief, scratching their heads at the appropriate parts. Neal was a good story-teller, and he was distracting Peter from the pain pumping through his body and Elizabeth from the concern that stole the color from her cheeks.

They moved on to a game of "Would You Rather".

Would you rather piss Hughes off or Diana?  
_Hughes. _The partners were mutual on that one.

From Elizabeth to Neal: Would you rather give up your hats for a year or tack on another year to your FBI sentence?  
_Why, add another year of course,_ he'd retorted playfully.

From Peter to Elizabeth: Would you rather have Mozzie house-sit for us for a week or not go on a vacation for a year?  
_Mozzie could house-sit, of course!  
_Peter's answer had been very different than his wife's.

The three continued their game for another ten minutes, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the ambulance.

Peter faded in gentle waves; the concerned duo huddled in the kitchen didn't realize it until his momentary pause to think turned into an agonizing minute, until it slurred into a gentle slap on the face, a pleading call for a response.

"Peter?"

Neal, his hands fluttering across Peter's body like a hummingbird that was afraid to land, afraid to touch, for touching would mean this was real...

Elizabeth, just the opposite, her hands finding every molecule of her husband, feeling every inch of his flesh, of his person, willing the life and health and light from her fingers, as if her very hands could heal.

Peter, their rock, the man who had showed Elizabeth what true love was, what a working couple could be, how complete a family could be, a man, his wife, their dog, and their surrogate con.

Peter, the man who had made Neal's life hell, caught him twice, only to bring meaning to that very life, to give him friendship, family, and an unconditional sense of belonging that had always eluded him, a type of belonging that Mozzie insisted didn't exist for guys like them.

But it was real, it was warm, and it was his. It was tangible in the anklet that once represented being trapped but that now represented something much greater—the anchor was no longer holding him in place but was now holding him to a life that he dared not dream of. It was tangible in the god-awful deviled ham that Neal had eaten on a dare. It was felt in the banter of two men who understood one another's minds, or in the need to protect the other.

But Peter wasn't responding anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth's fingers were chewed to the bit. She was on the verge of hyperventilating; she was used to the unordinary, the feats of being the wife of an FBI agent… but this? This was something all-too normal in its possible mortality.

Elizabeth was perched at her husband's side, cooing him into awareness, or at least trying to. Neal had grown quiet as he dashed around the house. He'd returned with an armful of supplies to help Peter, to make him more comfortable.

Neal's nimble fingers loosened Peter's tie and undid the top two buttons on his shirt. He removed Peter's shoes and set them simply to the side. Neal pressed two slender fingers against Peter's warm neck to check for a pulse. It was there, but it was sluggish. Neal knew all-too-well what would happen next, and so he rested the palm of his hand flat on Peter's chest, just over the lower part of his sternum. _Pump. Pump._ Neal was trying to get Peter's heart to beat regularly again.

Elizabeth, always the mother-hen, was at Neal's side. She didn't question how Neal knew exactly what to do, but rather, her eyes found Neal's. __

"Tell me what to do."

Neal continued as he felt for Peter's hear beat once more.

"I think this is helping. If you can continue, I'll call and get-"

"N-No, you keep helping him," El spoke her words shaking.  
She trusted Neal, and right now, she didn't trust her own trembling fingers to do much of anything.

Neal nodded. "Call and see how far out that ambulance is."  
Now it was Elizabeth's turn to nod.

Peter began to stir under Neal's touch, his warm brown eyes rolling up to meet Neal's worried blue ones.

"Chased you for…three years. How'd you know how to…" His voice was breathy, gruff, but a complete relief for Neal and Elizabeth. His eyes bore into Neal's, questioning, wanting to understand the man who never ceased to surprise him.

"Just a lot of reading," he said, evading the question. "You back with us?"  
Peter grinned weakly, easing himself up straighter against the wall.

"Another twenty minutes… there was an accident on 4th Street, and it-it's stalling traffic," Elizabeth called from the living room. She'd been on the verge of tears again and hadn't wanted to alarm her husband. Peter needed for her to be strong. And Elizabeth was no weakling; she wasn't one of those women. She was going to help her husband and she'd be damned if she let Neal shoulder that burden alone.

Peter was fading before their eyes, swallowing thickly. He clumsily reached out for Elizabeth's hand. A half a second later, she's slid across the floor and was on her knees, clutching to Peter's hand as though a tangible grip would keep him there, keep him hers.

"Hon, Elizabeth, I love you so much. I love… you so much."  
El was pale, her eyes wide as she fought back a sob.

Peter's hand sought out to rest on Neal's shoulder. "Neal."  
Neal jerked back, refusing Peter's touch as though the man were deadly. Elizabeth shot him a questioning look.

"_Neal."_ Peter looked at him, the epitome of a broken man, a man slipping away, so very un-Peter-like that it tore at Neal's heart, his very being.

"No. No, Peter. You don't get to do that. You're not saying your goodbyes."  
Neal's voice was thick yet controlled.

"_Neal.._"

Neal shook his head. He was not about to lose Peter, the closest thing to family he had, and he was _not _going to let Peter leave El a widow.

Peter's eyes were drooping a bit.

"No, Peter. No. You're not quitting on us. I will _not_ stand by your wife at your funeral. You are not leaving Elizabeth a widow. You fight, you fight for her."

Peter huffed.

"You fight for Elizabeth."  
_And for me._


	4. Chapter 4

_Peter was fading before their eyes, swallowing thickly. He clumsily reached out for Elizabeth's hand. A half a second later, she's slid across the floor and was on her knees, clutching to Peter's hand as though a tangible grip would keep him there, keep him hers._

_"Hon, Elizabeth, I love you so much. I love… you so much."  
El was pale, her eyes wide as she fought back a sob._

_Peter's hand sought out to rest on Neal's shoulder. "Neal."  
Neal jerked back, refusing Peter's touch as though the man were deadly. Elizabeth shot him a questioning look._

_"Neal." Peter looked at him, the epitome of a broken man, a man slipping away, so very un-Peter-like that it tore at Neal's heart, his very being._

_"No. No, Peter. You don't get to do that. You're not saying your goodbyes."  
Neal's voice was thick yet controlled._

_"Neal.."_

_Neal shook his head. He was not about to lose Peter, the closest thing to family he had, and he was not going to let Peter leave El a widow._

_Peter's eyes were drooping a bit._

_"No, Peter. No. You're not quitting on us. I will not stand by your wife at your funeral. You are not leaving Elizabeth a widow. You fight, you fight for her."_

_Peter huffed._

_"You fight for Elizabeth."  
And for me._

_

Peter Burke was a fighter. He'd survived bullies in elementary school, he'd survived being mugged the week after he and Elizabeth had moved into their new house (and wasn't _that_ just a great way to show what a man he was), he'd survived multiple undercover operations.. and he would be _damned_ if something like this, a heart attack?!, was going to take him away from everything he'd worked so hard to attain. So Peter did what he'd always done- he fought.

Peter rode each wave of pain like the cowboy his father always told him he could be. The pain was, for the most part, a constant and dull-pressured pain. He felt as though someone was sitting on his chest. Occasionally, tingles would flick through his body. As the minutes dragged by, however, the pain became more acute, more focused, more direct. The pain, however, was nothing compared to the agony he saw reflected in Elizabeth's eyes… in Neal's.

Peter struggled to catch his breath; he was feeling uncomfortable under their scrutinizing gazes, their dissecting looks. Plus, he was wary and growing more and more damned _tired_. He would have given in to the call for sleep if the pain wasn't so distracting, if Elizabeth and Neal didn't look so terrified, and if he wasn't afraid that he wouldn't wake up again. Though if he was being honest with himself, the temptation to rest had beckoned him. He'd almost given into it twice now, though each time, it was Neal who pulled him back.

An uncomfortable silence passed over him as he watched the two of them. Elizabeth was holding back sobs, caressing his hand, leaving a trail of kisses on his palm, his wrist, his fingers.

Neal was tense, his jaw locked, but his eyes holding a raw and visceral fear in them that Peter had never seen. He looked like a lost little boy.

"S'okay," he slurred to Neal, to Elizabeth. Just then, there was a pounding on the door.  
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur to Peter, though Elizabeth and Neal would never forget. The next forty seconds would be forever inscribed into their brains, into their memories—each minute detail.

EMS loading Peter onto a gurney.  
A defibrillator, an EMT yelling something about _crashing, crashing, he's crashing.  
_That's all Peter would remember.


	5. Chapter 5

_The doctor had been kind enough to update them about an hour ago; the medical staff were now in the process of setting him up in a room and administering some medication. They were merely waiting on the go-ahead to see Peter in his room._

"How did you know… all of that?"

Neal looked up from the magazine he hadn't been reading. He'd missed what Elizabeth had asked him. "Hmm?"

"How did you know about- about the chest compressions, how to keep him comfortable.. how did you know all of that?" Her eyes were wide and imploring, if not too bright from the combination of exhaustion and unshed tears.

Neal pressed his lips together, looking at the disheveled Mrs. Burke. He was exhausted himself; the duo was wary and run down, the adrenaline of Peter's medical crisis draining from both of their systems.

"When I was young, my grandfather had a heart attack while he was babysitting me. I was completely unprepared. When he.. died, I knew I never wanted to be unprepared like that again."  
_So he'd studied. He'd read all about treating various ailments, alleviating symptoms, helping people in pain. These skills would serve him well as a police officer, he'd thought. Being able to help victims, being able to help everyone… Of course, that hadn't worked out, but Neal's zest for learning hadn't diminished. _

The set line of his mouth, the furrow on his brow, the burning look in Neal's eyes… they were the last straw for Elizabeth. She closed her eyes as she felt hot tears prickling down her face.

"Hey… it's okay. Peter's going to be alright." Elizabeth felt Neal's breath on her cheek, and instinctively, she curled against him, resting her head on his chest. Neal hesitated for a moment and then enveloped her in a hug. "He's gonna be fine," he whispered into her hair. "He's gonna be fine."


End file.
